


Fix you

by blenalela



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Angst, Guilt, Nightmares, nights in the desert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blenalela/pseuds/blenalela
Summary: After shooting the civilian in the blue car, Walt can't sleep anymore and has fallen into a hole. Fearing for his friend to be taken off the battalion, Ray decides it is time to fix Walt up again.
Kudos: 7





	Fix you

**Author's Note:**

> Reupload from a story I wrote in August. Fixed it and (in my opinion) it's now better by far.

** Fix you  **

When Walt closed his eyes, he saw blue smoke. Smoke so thick, he couldn’t see anything but its steel blue color. His senses were completely filled with its presence, he didn’t hear, see, feel or taste anything but. Slowly, the fog cleared, as did the cotton numbing his mind. He felt the weight of his helmet pressing down on his head, the cool metal of his gun, the hot air of Iraq. He heard tires on tar, the familiar sound of a vehicle approaching, something so common it shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat. His mouth was dry and sand and dust clung to his tongue. Not even swallowing would make it better.

The tires seemed to creep closer and closer. His grip around the weapon tightened and one of his fingers lingered on the trigger. He still couldn’t see past the blue smoke.

Then, out of the blue, a car appeared. It seemed to be one with the smoke around it.

Walt’s eyes widened and without giving it another thought, his brain gave the command to shoot. It was a mere reflex, something he had been taught. The simple lesson of “shooting anything that moves” was buried so deep within his body, that his limbs acted according to it without him having to give the order to.

But as soon as his finger had pressed down on the trigger, his heart sunk with the sudden realization that his shot had in fact not been a warning like it had been supposed to be using common sense.

As soon as his bullet hit the car, it simply dissipated in millions of small pieces which started to dance around him, like snow in the winter. The flakes were encompassing him. At first, he thought it was beautiful. It reminded him of the winters in Virginia, his favorite time of the year. The peacefulness that laid buried beneath its beauty.

But then the blue flakes changed. They were tainted with red now.

Blood was now raining down on Walt. He felt his chest beginning to tighten, fear making it impossible to breathe for him.

He couldn’t move, he was frozen in place. No matter how hard he tried, he stayed in the exact same position, looking at the scenery through the visor of his SAW. It was awful. Panic started to rise up in his chest. What could he possibly do to escape this?

The blue smoke started to lighten up. A man walked towards Walt, a bloody hole were his eye used to be. He screamed at Walt in a language he didn’t speak and started to beat him, until Walt’s cries seized and the pain began to numb.

Walt’s eyes shot open and he sat right up. Rolling Stone was lying next to him and Brad slept to his right, covering his entire body up to his nose. Ray had curled up like a little cat under his blanket near the entrance. And Trombley was sitting in the car. Walt couldn’t see whether he was asleep or on look-out duty. Technically, it should be the latter, but Trombley didn’t move the tiniest bit. Yet Trombley was a weird psycho, so no judging him and his look-out-methods.

Careful not to make any sound, Walt put his cover aside and got up. Looking out for body parts lying in his way, he walked to the exit of their little make shift tent comprised of the cammie nets and their humvee. He still felt like he couldn’t breathe, he still felt his heart racing. He needed fresh air.

Rolling Stone soundly continued to snore as the gunner stepped over the sleeping Iceman who made a soft grunting noise at the sudden sensation in the ground. As Walt was about to round the bundle of Ray, he heard him talk. At first, he thought he had woken him up, but soon after, he realized the ever so talkative Missourian was even talking in his sleep. He caught small brackets of sentences like “No charms in the car” and “Pussy against war” before he finally left the make-shift tent.

The sky was clear and the composition of moon and stars looked as if they had been carefully drawn onto a canvas as deep and dark as the ocean. Walt walked a few feet away from the camp the Recon Marines had made. He was tired. Ever since it happened, he saw the scene every time he closed his eyes. It robbed him of sleep and he got a lot more abrasive every time anyone spoke to him. Neither did he let Brad talk to him, nor did he respond to any of the times Ray tried to cheer him up.

It made him feel uneasy, unworthy of being part of First Recon. Trombley had been completely cool with shooting those two kids and the camels, he still was, Walt on the other hand completely lost his mind after having killed one person who disregarded the roadblock and was attempting to drive through. Maybe he would’ve been declared hostile either way, after firing warning shots, maybe he would’ve died either way, but with how things were looking right now, Walt was guilty of killing an innocent Iraqi.

Sighing, Walt got down on the berm surrounding the encampment. There was a city a few hundred klicks he could see from there. It shone in the darkness, but so far, no one had tried to bomb it. Unlike the one Alpha once called out for being a mechanized Iraqi battalion.

He buried his face in his hands. He was a murderer. Technically, all of them were, but shooting hostile republican guards and jihadists was different from shooting civilians.

It was crazy to him what a huge difference it made to shoot an Iraqi soldier or civilian. The guilt of having shot a soldier did not weigh on him, or anyone, for that matter.

It was like killing a fly. Nothing.

But having shot this innocent man had left a hole in his heart. It occupied his mind. He had taken someone’s life so easily.

Why was it so different?

Sure, they weren’t ordered to Iraq to shot innocent people, but a life was a life, wasn’t it?

His brain didn’t let him think of the man he killed the same as the soldier he had killed. Instead it was running wild with questions.

Did the others tell his family? Did he have kids? He robbed not only the man of his life, but took a friend, a husband, a father away from his loved ones. He was a monster.

Ever so slowly, his body began shaking as he tried to not start crying.

For the first time, Walt regretted having joined the Marines. He regretted that stupid decision he had made and he finally understood his mother’s tears.

“Walt? You okay?”

The blond hadn’t realized Ray coming after him. He turned around to face him. The RTO looked still sleepy, his MOPP suit slightly disheveled and he was over and over covered in dust about which he didn’t care to brush off.

Walt turned away again, without saying a thing. He could hear Ray sigh and suddenly, his body collided with Walt’s as he sat down next to him closely, their arms, legs, everything, touching.

“You know, you can’t keep up this silent treatment forever.”

Walt could be called stubborn and childish, but instead of lifting his silent vow, he kept up his silence and started throwing stones into the sheer endless desert, like skipping rocks on a lake.

And for a few moments, it was only silence encompassing the two Marines. No noise reached up to them from the camp and it was one of these rare nights the cobras were sleeping too instead of bombing at any possible hostile hamlet or city near them.

Ray sighed again. “Can you please tell me how to get you to speak again? I’m worried, Brad’s worried – hell, even Trombley is getting worried. And if that ain’t a sign from, whatever, God or something for you to snap out of it, then I don’t know what.”

Still nothing.

“Walt, baby, come on.”

Ray started nudging Walt’s shoulder, then rocking him back and forth, until the Virginian’s hand collided forcefully with Ray’s chest. “Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?”

Not even in his dreams did he think about leaving Walt the fuck alone. Instead, Ray’s hands snatched forward, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look into his brown eyes.

“Fuck, Walt, you need to get your fucking act together. I know you did some fucked up shit, but think about it. If you don’t do your fucking job because you’re still sulking, how many of us do you think will die? Trombley’s got a wife. Poke even got a fucking child. You want their families to lose them? You made a mistake. Everyone does one once in a while. Get over it.”

Walt yanked his face free from his grip, anger still burning behind his blue eyes.

“Since when are you the voice of fucking sensibility?”

“Since you are acting like a complete sissy by burying yourself in self-loathe and I think you’d appreciate it more if your dearest pal Ray-Ray was giving you this talk instead of the Iceman over there who’d just stand there, loom over you, before saying something like “Walt. Snap out of it and do your fucking job.” At this point I believe that this would be the easier way to get you back to normal again. Because right now, you’re fleeing like a coward. Or do you want to have the LT get you out of here because you’re combat ineffective? If so, you’re on the right fucking tracks.”

The fire in Walt’s eyes slowly died out. Instead, pain arose in them, making them seem glassy and Ray could’ve sworn he saw them getting watery too. Not even he himself was gonna believe what he was thinking next, but he decided not to tell anyone about it and for once actually keep quiet about something.

He simply decided to pull Walt in for a hug. What he didn’t expect was for Walt to clutch onto him as if his life was depending on it and for him to start crying.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Ray’s hand wandered from Walt’s back up to his head, softly ruffling through his short blond hair in an attempt to calm him. He didn’t want for anybody to hear Walt crying like this, he wanted to spare him the embarrassment of everybody in the platoon viewing him as a pussy. Though he doubted this would happen in any way, everybody was far too preoccupied with the stupidity of command probably killing them all sooner or later.

So Ray supposed no one would even notice.

And even if so, they all liked Walt too much. He was usually a ray of sunshine, wherever he went, he was something like their unofficial mascot. Not a single man in the platoon didn’t like Walt.

Ray’s heart hurt as he heard Walt silently weeping into the crook of his neck, he felt his tears through his scarf and the pain and anguish lacing his voice.

Not long after, the two walked back to the rest of their team, having sealed the silent agreement as to never talk about the night and anything that happened up on the berm. Walt was feeling better. That was the only thing that mattered.

Still, Walt stayed awake for long, thinking about how Ray was the glue holding the entire battalion together and preventing it from being crushed by everything that happened in this country filled with unfair circumstances.


End file.
